


Mayoral Privilege

by Hornswaggler



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, pre-game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 18:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: Very few in the wastes are actually fans of the Gunners.At least, Hancock figures, one of them seems to have a sense of humor.





	Mayoral Privilege

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keycchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/gifts).



> My half of a fic-trade with keycchan that is so severely overdue
> 
> because I am the literal worst at getting things done in a timely fashion
> 
> this isn't even _done_ , but I decided to do it in a three-parter, partially so I can prove I have in fact been working on something, I promise, there will be more! This part's short, hopefully the rest will be longer.
> 
> For now enjoy this slight mess~~

The Third Rail was a considerably nicer place since Vic and his men had been forcibly extracted from the area. Not to say that it was a _nice_ place even now, but Whitechapel Charlie had seen far fewer all-out-brawls to break up and, as far as Hancock was aware, no one had been killed since the change in administration.

As far as he was aware. If people thought something like that warranted pushing it under the rug, he wouldn’t bother prying.

The bar did not see a savory crowd by any stretch of the imagination, or at least nothing that most people would consider savory. There were still bloodstains on the floor, empty Jet canisters, the occasional attempts by some drunk idiot to appear tougher than another drunk idiot, but put Magnolia’s voice behind all of that and it had a strange sort of charm. Exactly the sort of charm the whole town had been slowly taking on, with the chem deals on one corner and the Neighborhood Watch in their suits on the next.

Still, even with its reputation, when a small crowd of strangers came trooping down the stairs, bristling with some pretty damn impressive armor and the distinctly pissed look of people who had their large weapons locked upstairs, all of the regulars suddenly paid very close attention.

Hancock had to blink hard at least once to get his vision to focus, but he was as steady as ever when he stood, carefully considering the tall woman leading the group as she very clearly did the same to him. She still had a pistol on one hip; it was asking a little too much for people to be completely unarmed in a place like Goodneighbor, but one small arm was all anyone was allowed in the bar, and so far there hadn’t been any incidents ending in bloodshed.

That he was aware of.

By the looks of the holsters and straps on her armor, there were usually a good number of weapons at her disposal, and Hancock was glad he hadn’t been the one to convince these people to give them up. After a few seconds of sizing each other up, he offered his most charming grin.

“Make yourselves at home, friends,” he said, waving toward the bar as a whole. “Watch you don’t stiff ol’ Charlie on a tab, he’s been known to hold grudges.”

“Don’t need a grudge if I make it even straight off,” Charlie called, “won’t take more than a few fingers.”

The tension dissipated some; with a couple of quiet chuckles, the regular patrons went back to their conversations almost immediately. The woman just gave a curt nod, turned enough to nod a little more sharply -- more like a dismissal -- at the group behind her, and went straight for the bar.

Hancock watched them scatter, claiming what couches and tables were empty, a few not even bothering with the bar at all but keeping a cautious eye on the room. Too sophisticated to be raiders, he decided, too much variety in the outfits for Minutemen. That made Gunners most likely, which meant he would probably have to sacrifice his planned night of drinking with abandon for some actual mayoral-type responsibilities of keeping an eye on things.

Not to say he was going to stop drinking. He just might think a little harder about it.

He’d just turned back to his glass, one hand tipping his hat a little further back so he could see more of the room at a glance, when one of the stragglers stopped by the empty stool next to him. There was a wariness in the movement, like it was clear the options were slim and all of them were unappealing, but the eventual quiet huff of breath made Hancock look up with a smirk.

“If I promise not to bite that hand off, will you stop it fidgeting like that?”

The kid clenched the hand to his side immediately and shot Hancock a look that was trying not to look wary and failing miserably. Eventually he gave in, sinking onto the stool and letting his bag slip to the floor. Hancock didn’t miss the way he hooked a foot through one of the straps -- the bare minimum of street smarts, then, at the very least -- as he did another sweeping look around the room.

“Sorry,” the kid muttered, “nothin’ against -- I mean I’m a little jumpy with ghouls, it’s not --” He seemed to catch Hancock’s raised eyebrow, even with the lack of an eyebrow to raise, and stuttered to a stop with a quick shake of his head.

Looked a little young for the Gunners. Not that age meant a hell of a lot in the ‘Wealth as a whole, but Gunners actually required experience, and that came with time. Maybe their standards were getting lower or something.

“Hey,” Hancock said, clapping the kid on the back and not being too sorry when it got a flinch, “you didn’t start screamin’, so that’s a plus. Just don’t go pulling any guns that don’t need pulling and everyone’ll get along just fine.”

That coaxed out a quiet snort. Still no drink order. Maybe he was one of the people in charge of making sure the others didn’t start any brawls. Not like there was any kind of age restriction, but he still somehow looked too young to be drinking anything strong. Could just be the overly paranoid type, never wanting to risk any kind of inhibition in an unfamiliar place.

Not like it was any of Hancock’s business.

“Speaking of guns,” he said after a pause, “your boss over there isn’t gonna start waving hers around if someone bumps into her, right?”

The kid glanced up, his scoff sounding a little like the start of a laugh. “Nah. Don’t think so, anyway.”

Hancock nodded, taking another long swallow of his own drink and letting out a long breath as he sat back. “Just what this place needs,” he muttered. “Bunch of Gunners getting people all twitchy, Daisy’ll blame me if it cuts down on business. Have to throw a whole town meeting to get people to calm the hell down.”

“Town meeting?” The kid glanced over with a smirk. “Gonna go shouting on that bench outside?”

“More like the balcony above it.” Hancock nodded toward the upper part of the building. “Mayor’s place, y’know.”

That got a slight squint. “Mayor’s?”

“Ah, where are my manners?” He didn’t go for a handshake, figuring it wouldn’t be received well, and just touched two fingers to his hat. “John Hancock. I run this little shithole we call home.”

“You’re a--” There was a pause like he was fighting a losing battle to not sound like a total ass. Hancock didn’t have to defend his position to anyone in town--they had all seen him earn it--but newcomers were occasionally a little slow to accept the idea that a ghoul could be a contributing member of society, let alone the mayor.

He was good at defending his position. Didn’t mean he liked to.

Eventually, though, the kid just nodded curtly. “MacCready,” he said. “Don’t worry about Asher; she’s not pleasant, but she usually won’t cause trouble unless she’s paid to.”

Hancock snorted, leaning forward to rest his arms on the bar. “And yet you seem like a fine, upstanding member of society.” Or as close to society as they got these days. “How the hell you fall in with these assholes?”

MacCready hesitated, glancing over his shoulder like he was worried someone might be eavesdropping. Probably a valid concern, as it seemed doubtful the tried and true members of the group would take well to anyone bad-mouthing it. “I mean, I’d say it’s honest work, but that’d be a fu--a straight up lie.” He shrugged quickly. “But hey, caps are caps, and I happen to be really good with a rifle.”

“Get paid more if you went freelance, wouldn’t ya?”

That got a derisive snort. “Yeah, I’m gonna actively take jobs from the most well-armed group in the ‘Wealth, that’s smart.”

Hancock gave a conceding hum, remembering his half-finished drink and downing the rest quickly. “Well, if I happen to need any...rifling done, I’ll ask for you specifically. MacCready, was it?”

MacCready shot him a look that still bordered on wary. Figured, friendly conversation or not, the whole ghoul thing still threw people off. After a moment, the kid nodded. “Work best from high up and a hundred meters away, but so long as you pay, I won’t be picky.”

They were quiet for a minute. The bar itself wasn’t, of course; with the addition of the Gunners, it just gained that many more loud voices to the noise, and Hancock made himself pay at least a little bit of attention. He wasn’t eager to step in the middle of some row between one of his people and a pissed off mercenary, but he also wasn’t keen on the idea of a giant brawl starting because one person couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

It had happened before, but Gunners tended to actually be good at fighting, unlike a lot of the drifters that ended up in Goodneighbor. Amari had enough to handle without all that.

“You not drinking?” Hancock asked eventually, and he could swear MacCready almost jumped. Twitchy little thing. “Charlie here makes a mean…” he hesitated, lifting his empty glass, “whatever the fuck this was.”

MacCready snorted again. “I’ve heard this guy’s prices, ain’t about to shell out that much for some basement moonshine.”

“Watch yourself,” Charlie called from further down the bar, and Hancock didn’t bother holding back a laugh when MacCready did jump then. “Don’t wanna drink it, you’re welcome to scrub the floor with it.”

Hancock waved a hand absently. “This one’s on me, Charlie; get the kid your best.”

The Handy grumbled a little as he turned, but went to work anyway, as he always did. Charlie may complain about every second of it, but he always got the work done. Some people even like his habit of insulting half the customers.

MacCready looked a little suspicious. Made sense, hand-outs in the wasteland almost never came without a catch. Hancock slung an arm around the kid’s shoulders, and the still-sober part of him was glad that the drunk part let him ignore the way MacCready visibly flinched back again.

“You’re in Goodneighbor, brother,” Hancock told him. “Gotta have at least a little fun. Besides,” he added, tone dropping to conspiratorial, “that’s the fun of being mayor; I own the place, so I don’t gotta pay.”

The glass slid over without fanfare and MacCready squinted at it for a moment, his mouth pulled into a tight but slightly off-center line. Eventually he seemed to give up with a quiet huff of breath. The quick swallow immediately turned into a coughing fit as Hancock laughed, slapping the kid on the back once.

“Holy _fu--_ ” MacCready cut off, coughing a few times again and staring down at the glass. “Tastes like freakin’ _varnish_.”

“Yeah, it does,” Hancock agreed. “Good shit, right?”

“I think you’re either poisoning me, or you’re just insane.” He considered that for a second. “Maybe both.”

Hancock shook his head, his grin wide. “Trust me, I don’t care nearly enough about you or your little gang here to waste good alcohol like that.”

MacCready rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fair enough.”

He took another drink.

 _Yeah_ , Hancock decided abruptly, _this kid isn’t so bad._


End file.
